


In Front Of God And The Oklahoma State Flag

by leiascully



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alec Hardison Learns To Tip It's Called Character Growth, Eliot punches homophobes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Found Family, Loss of Parent(s), Multi, OT3, Parent Death, You Can't Go Home Again, eliot punches bigots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26689006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: Eliot gets a letter containing his father's obituary.  Hardison goes with him back to Oklahoma while Parker's out of town.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 54
Kudos: 266





	In Front Of God And The Oklahoma State Flag

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: a couple of years post-"The Long Goodbye Job"  
> A/N: Endless thanks to my wife coffeesuperhero. You're right. The answer is always more Parker.

When Hardison came into the kitchen, Eliot was just standing there, reading a letter.

"E? You all right?" Hardison put a hand on Eliot's back. 

"Huh?" Eliot blinked like he was coming out of a daze. Hardison leaned in, checking his pupils automatically. He'd seen that expression before, when Eliot had been blindsided, been hit too hard. Eliot looked concussed. But his pupils were even, dilating a little when Hardison blocked the light, shrinking again when he moved away. 

"You all right?" Hardison repeated. 

"Yeah," Eliot said, still looking like he'd had his bell rung. "Uh. My, uh, dad. He died."

Hardison pulled him close. Eliot was stiff for a half-second in a way he hadn't been in years, and then he melted against Hardison's chest and slung his arms around Hardison. Hardison could feel Eliot's ribs rising and falling against his, the long shuddery breaths Eliot tried to muffle in Hardison's collar. He didn't say anything, just held on, rubbing Eliot's back with one hand. After a few minutes, Eliot sighed and stepped away. His eyes were red and damp, but he wasn't crying. 

"Guess I gotta go to Oklahoma," he said, tossing the letter down on the counter. It was crumpled where he'd clutched it. "There's some stuff I need to sort through." 

"I'll go with you," Hardison said.

"You don't have to," Eliot told him, but the way he pressed his lips together said something entirely different. 

"I'll book us a couple of plane tickets," Hardison said. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of everything. Hotel. Rental car. Or do you want a truck?"

"Yeah," Eliot said slowly. "Better get a truck. I don't know what kind of stuff is there. Might have to take a few loads to the dump."

Hardison tried not to wince. He nodded instead.

"I'm gonna...go work in the kitchen for a little while." Eliot jerked his thumb at the stairs. "The brewpub kitchen."

"I figured." Hardison chewed on his lip. "Tomorrow okay?"

Eliot nodded very slowly. "Yeah. Tomorrow's fine." He started to walk toward the stairs and then paused. "You don't have to tell Parker. I don't want to ruin her trip. She's supposed to be enjoying things."

"I kinda think she'd want to know," Hardison said, holding out his hand, palm up. "She loves you, man. She'd want to be here for you. Plus she takes these trips a couple of times a year anyway. It's not some once-in-a-lifetime thing. She can eat gelato on Capri or whatever next year."

"No," Eliot said. "She's had enough family stuff. She doesn't need mine too." He clattered down the stairs. Hardison let him go. It would be easier for Eliot if he had onions to cut to explain the tears he was dashing out of his eyes. Eliot liked to sweat out his grief anyway, and the kitchen staff could always use the help. Hardison picked up the letter and smoothed it out. There it was, in black and white: _Dear Mr. Spencer, we regret to inform you of the death of your father._ The envelope had what looked like a half-dozen yellow FORWARD labels on it, sandwiched in with a couple of NOT AT THIS ADDRESS stickers. Hardison didn't even know how it had found them. It wasn't like he'd left information on their layers of aliases with the post office. But here it was, the messy addresses and the neat formal logo of a lawyer's office as the return address. There was a newspaper clipping still tucked in the envelope. Hardison read through it. The text of it was interesting: the man seemed to have written it himself. 

"The whole community will surely gather together to mourn the passing and/or spit on the grave of Adam Spencer, old enough to know better, sole proprietor of Spencer's Hardware until it went under. Spencer wasn't any kind of angel, but he deserved better than he got. He's presumably survived by his ex-wife and three children he hasn't spoken to in years. God rest his soul."

"Damn," Hardison said softly. He folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope with the obituary. It didn't belong in the kitchen: too bitter, too sour, too salty. He took it with him to the office and put it on top of the filing cabinet. First thing, he emailed Parker to let her know where they were going and why. He assured her she didn't need to come, but she'd be upset if she got home and Eliot was unhappy. He booked them first class tickets to Oklahoma City and set up a rental, the biggest, gaudiest truck he could find. He thought briefly about buying a truck — they could road trip back, two good old boys back behind the wheel — but maybe Eliot would just want to come home. Besides, Hardison hadn't really been to Oklahoma much, but he kind of got the feeling that it wasn't the prettiest of drives, heading northwest. Just tumbleweeds and flat and then a bunch of mountains, and no guarantee of good hotels along the way. He wasn't here to recreate the Oregon Trail or anything. 

While he was thinking about that, he booked a hotel too. Two adjoining rooms, just in case, for two nights. Yeah, they'd been together a while by now, shared beds all over the world, pledged their love to each other in a hundred ways, but Hardison had seen Eliot, when he came back from his last Oklahoma trip with haunted eyes and his hair shorn roughly off like he was doing some kind of penance for his sins. That had been when he'd finally let them hold him. Letting them love him had taken a little longer. Hardison could sleep alone for a couple of days if it would save Eliot an extra layer of worry on top of everything he was already dealing with. He knew Eliot's first instinct when he was hurt was to hide himself away and lick his wounds. He'd be right through the door if Eliot needed him. 

Home was a place people were different sometimes. Eliot would tell him it wasn't home anymore, and maybe that was true, but it was where he'd come from. Roots ran deep, Hardison knew, and all tangled up in Eliot's roots had been a lot of difficulty accepting that yeah, it was all right if he was in love with two people, even if one of them happened to be a Black man. Hardison didn't blame Eliot for it. He'd come around in time, without any kind of afterschool special come-to-Jesus talk about it either. They'd been fine since. Maybe the heartland wasn't always the kind of place the stories made it out to be, but Hardison wasn't taking the chance. Hell, he'd been in plenty of so-called enlightened places where people were still all twisted up about race and queerness and a hundred other things. Portland might be bluer than the rest of the state, but there were still plenty of racists. Eliot had bounced more than a couple of people out of the Bridgeport over the years for general assholery or specific bigotry. Hardison couldn't imagine there weren't a handful of hateful people in Oklahoma too. 

"I got everything taken care of," Hardison told Eliot when Eliot came back from the kitchen, stinking like sweat and onions and unhappiness.

Eliot just nodded.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Hardison said. "I'm guessing you don't have to pack."

Eliot shook his head. "You know me. No luggage."

No luggage, just baggage. Hardison nodded. "I do know you." He sidled up to Eliot and gently tugged on the bandana holding back Eliot's hair. Eliot let him take it out. His unbound hair fell around his face in a glorious mane. Hardison ran his hands through it and tilted Eliot's face up for a kiss. Eliot kissed him back, but distractedly. 

"How about a shower?" Hardison suggested.

"I know I smell," Eliot said. 

Hardison stroked his hair. "I'll wash your back." 

Eliot smiled dimly up at him. "Sounds good."

They took their time in the shower. Hardison's soapy hands moving over Eliot's skin turned inevitably into Hardison's clean hands stroking Eliot all over, but at least cleanup was easy since they were already in the shower. Everyone was much happier by the time they emerged into the steamy bathroom. Eliot kissed him with more of that sniper-sight focus this time, and Hardison kissed him back enthusiastically. 

"I'm glad you're coming with me," Eliot said, not looking at Hardison. "It means a lot."

"Hey." Hardison ducked his head and caught Eliot's gaze. "I love you. You're not alone anymore. You don't have to do any of this by yourself."

"I know that here," Eliot said, touching his heart. "Just hard to remember here." He tapped his head.

"I get it." Hardison wrapped his arms around Eliot. "You wanna order too much food from the kitchen and watch _Die Hard_?" 

"I really do," Eliot murmured. 

And so they did. "We really make some damn fine food," Hardison said, washing down a bite of his burger with a swig of one of their newer beers, a Belgian-style dubbel they called Cascadia Rivalry after some soccer thing Eliot was into.

"Yeah," Eliot said. The smile he gave Hardison was small, but it was real. "We've really built something here. Something we can be proud of."

"None of it would have worked without you, E," Hardison said. There were layers to it they didn't bother to acknowledge, except that Eliot pressed his knee into Hardison's just a little. Their phones buzzed in unison: a message from Parker. It was just a picture of a half-eaten sandwich with three exclamation points on it.

"That's our girl," Eliot said fondly. He put his arm around Hardison's waist. "How much chocolate is she going to bring back this time, d'you think?"

"Way more than customs is comfortable with," Hardison said. "Good thing she's been practicing her sweet-talking."

"Yeah," Eliot said. "She's come a long way."

"We all have," Hardison said, and leaned on Eliot. 

\+ + + +

Hardison made sure he looked up the weather before he packed. He didn't know much about Oklahoma, but he had heard the weather was unpredictable. Eliot actually brought a backpack with a couple of changes of clothes in it. Hardison wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or not. The flights weren't that long, which was nice. Nothing like the eight-hour international legs that made Eliot antsy. He did get up a couple of times, which was why Hardison had made sure he had an aisle seat, and he had a couple of beers, but he wasn't even tipsy when they landed in Oklahoma City. Hardison wasn't sure if that was a mistake or not. It might have been a cushion to Eliot's system to be a little boozy. But they landed, and got their obnoxiously large truck, and Eliot was perfectly civil to the lawyers. They didn't quite know what to do with Hardison, he thought, but Hardison was used to that. He just sat and looked serious and thoughtful and pretended to take notes as Eliot filled out the paperwork. There was always paperwork. 

"Well, Mr. Spencer, seems like we got all this just about wrapped up," said the lawyers, smiling blandly in Eliot and Hardison's general direction. "We left all the stuff out at the house for you. It's labeled and all."

"Now you gotta promise us you won't mess with anything else in the house," the younger one said, winking a little. "We just kind of figured you might want to see the place for yourself one last time. Your momma's pretty eager to sell, it seems."

"Yeah, I imagine she would be," Eliot said. "She, uh...do you know if she's gonna be there?"

The lawyers exchanged looks. The older one cleared his throat. "I don't think so, son. She told us she's staying with her sister out in Moore." 

"Lucky she still has a place, what with the weather the last few years," said the younger one. The older one nodded along, so Hardison did too. Clearly this was some kind of ritual. 

"Yeah, well," Eliot said, "everyone's lucky 'til they ain't." He and the lawyers all chuckled, a dusty dry sound. 

"Can't say different," the older lawyer said. Eliot leaned forward and shook hands with both of them. Hardison followed suit. 

"Gentlemen," he said. 

It was a bit of a drive out to the house - the better part of an hour, first through the city, then on the big highways, and finally on the county roads that had numbers along with names. Eliot drove like he was in a daze, but enough of his attention was on the road that Hardison let him keep going. Easier than having Eliot navigate, probably. Those turns were all muscle memory. The house was still in a neighborhood and all, and the road was paved, but it was still a lot further out of town than Hardison would have been comfortable living. He could feel how those wide open spaces might have seeped into Eliot's soul, though: the low rolling hills and that big old sky. 

The house didn't look haunted. It was just an ordinary ranch-style, not too big. But Hardison knew better. He saw the way Eliot's knuckles whitened as he put the truck in park and clutched the steering wheel. Hardison leaned over and put his hand on Eliot's shoulder. 

"Hey," he said. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"No, I gotta," Eliot said, staring fixedly at the door. Last time, that door hadn't opened, or so he'd told Hardison, and Eliot had just left an offering of their beer on the porch and come home and let them get him drunk and hug him, not in that order. This time, they had the code for the lock. 

"You don't have to do this right now," Hardison offered. "We could go get something to eat. Maybe a drink. Start a bar brawl. I know those always make you feel better. Come back tomorrow and deal with whatever this is. It's been a long day."

"Yeah," Eliot said, staring at the door. "Yeah. Let's go."

Hardison looked out the window as they drove away. The city grew up out of the landscape again until it was all around them. The hotel was easy enough to find. Hardison checked them in while Eliot parked. Hardison watched the young woman at the counter flick her eyes between him and Eliot as Eliot sauntered up, looking distracted. He knew that look. Noemi (or so her nametag proclaimed her) was family. If she didn't know they were together, she at least hoped. Hardison smirked to himself and enjoyed the way Eliot leaned toward him, just the way he always had, that magnetism that had been between them since the first days still tugging. 

"Room key," Hardison said, handing the little paper envelope to Eliot. Eliot opened it and slipped the card into his back pocket. He frowned at the empty envelope.

"You already get yours?"

"I got us two rooms," Hardison said. "Just in case."

Eliot's frown deepened. "In case what?" 

"In case you were upset," Hardison said. 

"Yeah, 'cause when I'm upset, I never want to be around the man I love," Eliot said sarcastically. 

"Not just in case you were upset," Hardison said. "Also in case people asked too many questions."

"You spent extra money in case people were a bunch of damn homophobes?" Eliot asked, his expression incredulous. "You don't even tip the delivery guy. First class seats on the plane are worth paying for, but two hotel rooms? What the hell, man. Ain't no way we're sleeping in separate beds tonight unless that's what you want."

Hardison held up one finger. "Not just in case they were homophobes. Also in case they were racist."

Eliot blew out a breath through his teeth. "I've got half a mind to march on over to the desk and tell them we only need one room."

"Do what you want," Hardison said mildly. There weren't many better ways to provoke Eliot than to tell him to do what he wanted. Eliot turned on his cowboy-booted heel and stomped his way over to the desk. Hardison sauntered after him.

"Ma'am, I think my boyfriend here made a little mistake when he booked the rooms," Eliot said, leaning on the very edge of the counter. "He's just not so good with computers, you know - he musta booked an extra room without realizing it. But we really only need the one room." He pulled the card out of his pocket and put it back into the little envelope. He slid it across the counter, flashing her a winning grin. Hardison had a strong suspicion their friend at the reception desk was exclusively or at least strongly interested in women, but Eliot had a way about him. Lesbians usually tolerated him, as long as he minded his manners, and he was Mister Manners right now. Maybe it was all the flannel. "Is there anything you can do?" 

The young woman looked between them. A tiny little smile curled up the corner of her mouth. "We do have a policy requiring 24 hours of notice for cancellation, but let me see what I can do." She tapped at her keyboard, that little smile lingering. "And there we go. I took the second room off and moved you to a room where you won't have neighbors tonight, unless there's some kind of late-night check-in. Nice and quiet."

"You're an angel," Eliot said, giving her a wink. She smiled at both of them.

"We take care of our own," she said quietly. 

Hardison tucked a hundred dollar bill behind the key card in his envelope before he pushed it over to her. "We do indeed." 

She scribbled on a new envelope and handed them new keys. "Wifi password is inside the envelope. You're on the Honors floor, so if you get hungry, there are complimentary snacks and drinks in the Honors lounge. You've got that code too. Enjoy your stay."

"Oh, we will," Hardison assured her. 

It was a nice room, and very quiet. They ordered room service because it seemed better than trying to find a restaurant. Hardison claimed he was tired, and he was, but more than that, he didn't really want to deal with an Eliot who was both out of sorts and in his element. They could go out somewhere tomorrow, when Eliot had recovered from the jet lag of going back twenty years. Hardison listened attentively as Eliot delivered a detailed but not scathing critique of the food from the hotel's kitchen: some kind of breaded chicken filet and scalloped potatoes with a salad.

"I know you could make better, but I've definitely had worse," Hardison said, lounging on the bed. 

"The salad was good," Eliot said grudgingly. "They make the dressing here. You can tell." He stacked the dishes outside the door and locked all the locks behind him.

"Thanks for letting me come with you," Hardison said. 

"Thanks for coming," Eliot said, stretching out on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. "Probably wouldn't have come at all, without you. Think I probably needed to, though."

"Closure?" Hardison asked.

Eliot grunted. "Is that what they call it when you realize how good you have it now?" He reached out and Hardison took his hand.

"That was real slick, with the reception person," Hardison said. 

"Yeah, well," Eliot said. "If I called you my boyfriend, out loud, here in front of God and the Oklahoma state flag, that made it real. So I guess it's real now." 

"Good to know it only took a couple of years," Hardison teased. 

"I don't want to want to claim you because I'm pissed off," Eliot mumbled. "I should be able to say it any time, all the time. I should be wearing some kind of t-shirt that says 'I'm With This Smart Guy If You Can Believe It' or something."

"You claimed me because you wanted to snuggle up," Hardison said, rolling onto his side and draping his arm over Eliot. "I think that's sweet." He nuzzled against Eliot's hair. "I hope on the back your shirt says 'Oh We're With The Blonde Too Watch Out She's A Handful'."

"She's a double handful," Eliot mumbled, pressing his face into Hardison's chest. 

Hardison chuckled. "Good thing there's two of us."

"I'm not trying be weird about it," Eliot said. "Or use you or whatever." 

"I know, sweetheart," Hardison told him. "Sometimes we just want to assert our normal on a weird situation. Being back in your childhood home as an adult is weird and I'm your normal now. Honestly, it's kind of endearing." He stroked Eliot's hair. "Plus, Miss Noemi at the counter was already wondering if we were a couple." 

"Of course she was," Eliot said. "A couple of guys as handsome as us. We're downright fascinating."

"Maybe that's it," Hardison said. He couldn't help smiling indulgently, although Eliot couldn't see him. Eliot brought that out in him. He wanted to be sweet to Eliot, soften him up, spoil him rotten. Something about that tough-guy attitude was irresistible. It was just a little bit of heaven to be lying here with Eliot in his arms, even thought it would have been better if Parker were there to really smother Eliot with love in his hour of need. Every now and again Eliot just needed to be wrapped up in a big hug and it took both of them to get all the way around him. But Parker was in Europe, probably dreaming of Belgian chocolate truffles. Hardison had a rare chance to pamper Eliot all by himself. 

"What are we doing here?" Eliot said.

"Picking up a package." Hardison rubbed Eliot's back. "No big deal. In and out."

"Yeah," Eliot said. "Just another retrieval."

"I'm kinda hoping to encounter less firepower than we usually have to confront on your retrievals, but yeah." Hardison sighed. "Speaking of confrontations...any chance you want to try to see your mom while we're here?"

"Hell no," Eliot said. "If she wanted to see me, she knew where I was. I'm not going out of my way to try and track her down."

"How about that nephew I've heard about?" Hardison kept rubbing Eliot's back. "Siblings?"

"Doubt it," Eliot said. "Momma wouldn't be staying with Aunt Tammy if the grandbabies were around." 

Hardison nodded against the pillow. "Makes sense." 

"I got nobody," Eliot said in a low voice. "Nobody left."

"You've got us," Hardison assured him. 

"Yeah," Eliot said. "But you've got Nana, and Parker's got Archie, and I've got nobody."

"You've got us," Hardison repeated, "and you've got Nate and Sophie, and Toby, and hell, Eliot, you've got more friends than any of the rest of us. Vance. Shelley. Hundreds of strippers."

Eliot laughed in a snuffly kind of way. "Dammit, Hardison, I'm trying to feel sorry for myself over here."

"Well, knock it off," Hardison said, kissing Eliot's temple. "Tomorrow, we're gonna sleep in, take a long hot shower, find a nice place to have brunch, maybe see the town, get a massage or something, retrieve whatever there is to retrieve, and then I'll get you as drunk as you wanna get. Deal?"

"Deal," Eliot said.

"All right then," Hardison said. "You wanna sleep now, or watch a couple hundred hours of HGTV?"

"It calms me down," Eliot said defensively, pushing himself up on the bed. Hardison sat up too and leaned against him.

"Like hell it does, last time I caught you yelling about the inauthenticity of putting shiplap in a bungalow and it took you hours to calm down."

"It doesn't make any sense," Eliot muttered. "Everybody's so swayed by that one damn show. You know, there's more to life than a farmhouse sink and a kitchen island."

Hardison nodded. "And yet, we have both."

"That's different," Eliot argued. "I actually use my kitchen. It's not just a prop."

"I know you do, baby," Hardison said, patting Eliot's thigh, carefully condescending. Eliot growled. "You cook real good."

"I know what you're doing," Eliot told him.

"I hope so," Hardison said. "Hate to go to all this trouble to make you just the right amount of mad to cheer you up and not have it work."

Eliot glared at him. "Dammit, Hardison."

"Every time you say that, all I hear is, 'I love you'," Hardison told him. "It's some real _Princess Bride_ shit up in here."

"Yeah, well," Eliot grumbled, "I do love you."

"I know," Hardison said. 

"You weren't joking about brunch and massages, were you?" Eliot eyed him suspiciously.

Hardison put his hands on Eliot's shoulders. "I am never joking about brunch and massages. Cross my heart."

\+ + + +

They had brunch. They had massages, at a fancy spa with the robes and everything. Hardison had a facial too, because why the hell not. Eliot drew the line at that but did let the staff cover him in mud. They emerged into a bright sunny day. Hardison watched with dismay as the relaxed slope of Eliot's shoulders firmed up into hard, tense angles. 

"You want to try the mall?" Hardison suggested. "Buy some new boots? Swing by Henleys R Us, pick up some replacements for the last couple of ruined shirts."

Eliot shook his head. "Let's get this over with." 

"Okay," Hardison said. They climbed into the truck. The rental place must have spritzed it with that new car spray. The smell of it mixed with the lavender from the massage oils. It was a little weird. Hardison cracked the window and let the hot dusty breeze whip the scent away. The drive seemed shorter this time. Hardison recognized a few of the landmarks. He wondered how compressed the trip was for Eliot, knowing it like he did. Eliot had that thousand-yard stare again. Hardison had been through enough family stuff to know that it wasn't exactly like head trauma, but it wasn't exactly unlike it either.

Hardison shifted in his seat. "You know, if you're not ready, we don't have to do this yet. We could extend our stay a couple of days. The restaurant will be fine. Nothing on our calendar." 

"No," Eliot said decisively. He got out of the truck and started walking toward the door. Hardison followed him. Eliot punched the code into the big real estate lock and pushed open the door. He flipped on the lights as he stepped inside and Hardison followed him. The place was like a time capsule: furniture from the 80s, linoleum to match. There were sheets thrown over the couch and a few chairs, but otherwise, the place seemed intact. In the center of the dining room table, there was a big box with Eliot's name on it. Eliot stalked toward it like he was afraid it would explode. Hardison tried not to look around too much. It felt like an invasion. 

"You need help?" he asked, looking at Eliot out of the corner of his eye.

Eliot shook his head. "No." 

Eliot put his arms around the box and braced against its weight and stumbled backwards. Hardison put a hand out to catch him. 

"Heavy?" Hardison asked.

"No," Eliot said. His new favorite word. "It's light as hell." He shook it around. "Sounds like papers. Probably all his old tax forms or something. Paperwork for the shop. One last fucking reminder that I didn't stick around to keep the place going." He turned and walked toward the door, the box awkward in his arms.

"You don't want to look around any? See if there's something worth salvaging from your room?" Hardison jerked his thumb at the hallway. 

"There's not," Eliot said brusquely. 

"No baby pictures?" Hardison pretended to pout. "No cowboy sheets?"

"You don't need to see my childhood bedroom," Eliot said. "I ain't him. Haven't been for a long time."

"Cowbaby Eliot," Hardison murmured, following Eliot out and closing the door behind them. The lock beeped as it engaged. It sounded final. Eliot heaved the box into the bed of the truck and got in the driver's seat.

"You gonna open it?" Hardison asked.

"Not 'til we get home," Eliot said, putting the truck into gear and pulling out of the driveway. No screech of tires, no plume of dust. It was sadder that way, somehow, like all of it was just going unmarked. A page flipped. A story ended, mid-sentence. 

"Find us someplace to eat," Eliot said, and Hardison pulled out his phone and navigated them to a place with good beer and good burgers. It was in a strip mall with an ice cream place, some kind of tutoring center, and a pharmacy, but all the reviews were good. They ate, and watched whatever game was on tv above the bar, and drank. Hardison kept an eye on Eliot. He was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that meant he was about to get in a fight. It wasn't a good silence, but it wasn't a dangerous one. Hardison left him alone. People were looking at them, but not too many people, and when they saw Eliot, most of them looked away. But not all of them, and a few of them were eyeing Hardison up and down in a way he didn't like. Their table was cluttered with empty bottles and cans, cheap domestics and a couple of empty shot glasses.

Hardison reached in his pocket and pulled out a button cam. He put his arm around Eliot briefly and stuck the camera to Eliot's shoulder with a pat. The dark pattern of the plaid he was wearing was probably enough to disguise it. Eliot might be mad later, but it was easier to watch the trouble table from the little feed on his phone than it was to keep coming up with excuses to turn around. Eliot was focused on the game. He wouldn't notice.

"You doin' okay?" Hardison asked.

Eliot grunted. "Fries could have used a soak before they went in the oil."

"We'll take it," Hardison said. He ate another fry and brought up the video feed. They all looked like they were watching the game too. He let his guard down just a little. It was probably nothing. He was just paranoid. 

They stayed until the game ended, nursing a couple of beers. Eliot sighed and sat back. "Just my luck."

"Can't win 'em all," Hardison told him. He put his arm around Eliot and retrieved the button cam. No sense in wasting it.

"I could use a win," Eliot grumbled. "Find us some kind of cakewalk job, will you?"

"I'll do my best," Hardison promised. He kept an eye on the trouble table as they passed, but they were paying their tabs and ignored him. Good. They'd all just leave and everything would be fine. It was only six guys out of a whole restaurant of people, out of a whole city's worth of people so far who hadn't had any problem with them. He and Eliot could leave them behind and Eliot never had to know about the way they'd stared, the way they'd kept looking and muttering to each other. But Eliot, when they got to the parking lot, leaned against the hood of the truck and Hardison had no choice but to join him. They looked up at the sky. There was so much of it, even with half the stars blotted out by the glow of city light.

"I should take you out to the middle of nowhere," Eliot mused. "You can see the Milky Way on clear nights like this one."

"Really?" Hardison asked. 

Eliot nodded slowly. "Get far enough away and a lot of things you couldn't see before show up."

Hardison bumped his shoulder against Eliot's. "I bet." 

Eliot turned and tugged Hardison closer. He leaned against Hardison's chest. "Man, I just want to go home." 

"Well, well, well," said a voice behind them, slurring a little. "I knew I had you pegged."

Eliot's fists tightened in Hardison's shirt. He took a step back so he could look at the guys who had come up behind them, but didn't let go. "Can I help you?"

"I bet you want to," the guy said, his leer making his meaning clear. "I bet you'd just love it." He spit. "Disgusting. I bet you even get on your knees for him, you degraded fuck." 

"E, calm down," Hardison said in a low voice. "You don't need to fight these guys. We can just get in the truck and leave."

"Yeahhh," Eliot said, "but on the other hand, I really want to fight 'em. You can just stand here and look pretty while I take care of 'em." 

Hardison shrugged. "I don't think they're gonna leave me out of it, unfortunately. I don't think they like me, for some reason."

"You remember what I taught you?" Eliot asked.

Hardison nodded. 

"Then you'll be fine," Eliot said. "You used to say you could do it all. Here's your chance to be a hitter."

"Coulda lived without it," Hardison said, but he was already shifting his weight, and when he turned around, his fist came with him, sailing into the jaw of the main guy's left hand hanger-on. It really fucking hurt, but the guy staggered and collapsed onto someone's truck. A second guy came at Hardison and managed to land a couple of punches, but Hardison used his knee to great advantage. Eliot took out the other four guys, barely breathing hard, bashing heads against hoods or against the backs of mirrors. Their attackers hadn't been experts, just a bunch of bigots spoiling for a fight. One of them puked on the parking lot lines, groaning. Eliot squatted next to the leader.

"Next time you wanna tell someone there's no place for their kind here, you might want to remember this," he said, as if he was just giving the guy ordinary advice. "Whatever their kind happens to be. We were born here, brought up here. We're here to stay, at least until we give all this land back to the people who took care of it in the first place." He looked up at Hardison. "Should I make sure he has a scar to remind him he ain't equipped to make any kind of decision about who has the right to be here?"

"Nah," Hardison said. "A scar might make him look interesting. I think it's better if he looks like every other jackass. You and me, we get to forget this and move on. He has to remember we kicked his ass and then were merciful about it. We didn't even mess up his face."

"I think you're right," Eliot said, rising. He did give the guy a little kick, nowhere too vital, not too hard. "Not worth our time. You always make the right call. Just one reason I love you."

"You're bleeding a little bit," Hardison said. He brushed back Eliot's hair. There was a cut on Eliot's cheek, not that big, but still oozing. There was blood on Eliot's knuckles too, but Hardison didn't think it was Eliot's.

"Maybe my boyfriend will take me to the pharmacy while these assholes get the fuck out of here before I come back and stomp 'em again," Eliot suggested. There was a lot of groaning from the ground. "And if I see even one speck of dirt on my truck, I'll know who to bill for it, and I don't take credit cards." The groaning seemed to convey that they understood the warning and would be far away by the time Hardison and Eliot returned.

"Of course I will," Hardison said. "Nothing's too good for my man. I'll get you the brand-name Band-Aids. Cartoon characters on 'em and everything." He took Eliot's hand gently in his and they walked across the parking lot.

"That was the most fun I've had this whole trip so far," Eliot said. "The massage was good, but sometimes you just need to punch a fucking racist homophobe in the mouth." 

"I love you so damn much," Hardison said. 

"What?" Eliot looked sideways at him as they stepped into the bright glare of the pharmacy's lights. 

Hardison shook his head. "You're just so you."

"Except when I'm somebody else," Eliot said. 

"Nah," Hardison told him. "There's always still that core of Eliot in there. Oklahoma dirt under your nails or something."

"I keep these hands clean," Eliot said, holding them up, Hardison's fingers still laced with his. 

Some things never washed away, Hardison thought but didn't say. Instead, he lead Eliot into the pharmacy, picked up some peroxide and antibiotic ointment and bandages. He paid for them and then made Eliot wash his face in the bathroom. He leaned against the wall and evaluated the circles under Eliot's eyes. Not the worst he'd seen, but not great. When Eliot had patted his cut dry with a paper towel, Hardison dabbed peroxide on it and then followed up with the ointment and a bandage. They lingered in the aisles of impulse buys on the way out, picking up a few things for Parker: a deck of cards with dinosaurs on them, a face mask that smelled like chocolate, a chia kitten. 

"Guess we're lucky they didn't have a gun, huh?" Hardison said as they browsed. Fights always did this to him: once the adrenaline wore off, he kept reviewing it in his memory. "No knives, no broken bottles."

"Guys like that can't actually use their guns," Eliot said dismissively.

"Kinda makes them more dangerous, in my eyes," Hardison said. "You don't know what they're gonna shoot. Or who."

Eliot paused. "That's fair." He held up a pair of fuzzy socks with unicorn ears and a horn on the cuff. "Think she'd like these?"

"Probably," Hardison said. "I like anything that keeps her icy feet off my bare skin." He tossed them into the basket. 

By the time they made it back to the truck, they had a whole bag of trinkets. The truck seemed untouched; there was nothing left of the trouble table but the sad puddle of stepped-in vomit. The box was still in the back of the truck. Eliot ignored it as they passed. They drove back to the hotel, talking about nothing, comfortable couple stuff.

Eliot didn't bother to get the box out of the back when they parked. Hardison raised an eyebrow. Eliot shrugged. "It's in the garage. It'll be fine. Or somebody will steal a bunch of useless papers. That's fine too."

Hardison didn't say anything. What Eliot did with his inheritance, whatever it was, was Eliot's business. Hardison knew better than to try to push him. Eliot's stubbornness made sense out here, under all this eternity of sky, in the midst of these red dirt hills. No wonder he was indelible. 

Noemi was working at the desk. Hardison waved at her and she winked at them. They rode the elevator up to their floor, took a long shower together to wash off the last of the massage oil and the fight, cuddled up in the bed watching a little blonde woman take a sledgehammer to a too-new fireplace in an old house. Their phones pinged with a message from Parker: a picture of a pain au chocolat and a bowl-sized mug of hot chocolate. Wherever she was, light streamed in through the windows and across the table. Another ping, this time just a couple of heart emojis. Hardison sent a couple back.

"I'm glad she's having a good time," Eliot mumbled. "Liking things."

"You taught her that," Hardison reminded him, holding Eliot tight. 

"Yeah," Eliot said thoughtfully. "I guess I did."

\+ + + +

They slept well, or at least Hardison didn't notice Eliot getting up in the middle of the night. They went and had a leisurely breakfast in some greasy diner Eliot knew and loved from way back. 

"Most everything I knew is gone," Eliot said, sipping coffee out of a heavy mug with the diner's logo on the side. "But this place...this place is eternal."

"'S good," Hardison said around a mouthful of biscuits and gravy. "'S real good." 

Noemi wasn't on duty when they checked out of the hotel, but Hardison left an envelope for her: another hundred bucks and a thank-you note. Eliot had left a big tip for the housekeeping staff too, even though Hardison had protested they hadn't even had anybody in. 

"That's hard work," Eliot had said. "And it doesn't pay enough." Hardison had shrugged. "Don't think I didn't see you slipped Noemi a little something."

"That's different," Hardison had protested. "She did us a favor. Above and beyond." But he'd finally left a tip for the housekeepers too, underneath the still-wrapped water glasses in the bathroom. They hadn't left things in disarray, but it still couldn't be that pleasant cleaning up everybody else's mess. Eliot had nodded in approval.

"I knew you'd understand someday," he'd said. 

"Yeah, yeah," Hardison had said, and they'd taken their bags downstairs to the desk, Parker's trinkets stuffed into Eliot's backpack. When they got to the garage, the box was still there. 

"Safe and sound," Hardison said. 

"We're going to the damn mall," Eliot said, but even after they'd spent a few hours browsing the wares and buying a few things to have shipped back to Portland, the box was still there. It was still there after they finished lunch. It didn't fly out on their way to the airport, either, and Eliot scowled at it when they got back to the rental car place. They insisted on giving him a little cart to push it around on. Eliot took it up to the counter and checked it. 

"They'll make room for it on the plane if they have to," Hardison told him. 

"I don't want to haul it around," Eliot told him. "It can take its damn chances in the hold."

"If you could just put it on the scale, sir," the kid at the counter said dubiously. Eliot nudged it up with one booted toe, and the kid let out a surprised noise. They printed a tag for it and slapped it on, then transferred it carefully to the belt. "You're all set."

"Thanks," Eliot said, sounding only a little bit sour.

They eased their way through security and found their gate. There weren't a ton of people in the seats. Eliot and Hardison found a few open ones and sprawled into them. A woman in tight jeans and clean boots with a cowboy hat pulled low over her face turned to them.

"Howdy, partners," Parker said in an exaggerated drawl.

" _Parker_ ," Eliot said, and she climbed over the arm of the chair into his lap and wrapped her arms around him, pushing her face into his neck and knocking her hat off. She stuck one hand out to Hardison, gesturing imperiously, and he leaned in too. 

"You didn't have to come back," Eliot murmured. "I wanted you to enjoy your trip."

"Yeah right," Parker said fiercely, "like I'm going to let you have emotions all by yourself." She scoffed. "I can like things any time." She patted his face with one hand. "I like you."

"Why don't you seem surprised by this?" Eliot asked Hardison.

"All I did was try to keep her in the loop," Hardison said. "You know nobody's in charge of her but herself."

"Anyway, I missed you," Parker said. "I like enjoying things on my own, but it's more fun to enjoy them with you." She leaned back, bent in an absurd arc to pick her hat up off the floor, and sat up, wedging the hat onto her head. "I like this hat, for example."

"I like it on you," Eliot assured her. 

"What if I were just wearing the hat," Parker suggested.

"Yes," Eliot and Hardison said at the same time. 

"Or you could wear that outfit from the job we ran in the music studio," Eliot said, a little too casually.

Parker frowned. "The bird costume?"

"No, no," Hardison said. "The one from the bar. Uh, you know. With the skirt, and the shirt all tied up in the front. I mean, just if you still have it around or whatever. I, uh, don't remember that well, you know." 

"But if you don't, it's fine," Eliot said. "The hat's good. Maybe the boots."

Parker laughed. "I'll see if I still have it somewhere," she said. She patted Eliot's face. "Did you find what you came here for?

"Nah," Eliot said. He looked at them. "Turns out I already had everything I needed."

Hardison rubbed Eliot's shoulder. Parker slid off Eliot's lap and sat in the chair beside him. They leaned on Eliot, loving him from both sides, and waited for their flight home. Hardison let Parker sit next to Eliot on the flight. He sat behind them by himself and listened to them talk, leaning on the console between the seats.

"What'd you see?" Eliot asked her. "What'd you eat?"

"I saw the Eiffel Tower at night," Parker said dreamily. 

"You've seen that before," Eliot said.

"Not from a hang glider." Hardison could hear the smirk in Parker's voice. "I took the train to Provence and rented a car and just went to the first random little town on the coast. There was a restaurant there with the freshest fish I've ever tasted. They had an olive tree in the courtyard that was 300 years old. It was owned by this family and the parents and the daughter cooked and the son got up at 2 every morning to start making the bread and the pastries. And then I went to Morocco. Have you ever had preserved lemons? We should make some. They're just..." - she smacked her lips, making a popping sound - "bright." 

"We thought you'd be eating gelato on Capri," Eliot said. 

"I did that too," Parker told him. "Went to the Blue Grotto. Learned to make pasta."

"I could have taught you that," Eliot grumbled.

"I was going to make it for you as a surprise," she said. "You just wait. One day, I'll be all like, 'Surprise! Pasta!'"

Eliot chuckled. "Looking forward to it." He was quiet a moment. "We missed you."

"I missed you," she said. "But you had Hardison. He's still better at this emotional stuff than I am."

"Maybe so," Eliot allowed, "but that doesn't mean I didn't miss you. It's the three of us, you know? All three of us. Sometimes I need you to make me explain things to myself so I understand them."

"I'm here now," Parker said. 

"Must have been a long flight," Eliot said.

Parker yawned. "Yeah. But it was worth it. Breakfast in New York. Dinner in Portland. I get to sleep in our bed, with you. That's better than any hotel." She considered. "Almost any hotel. I mean, you'd have to be there too, in the hotel. Next time, you should come with me. I still haven't done South and Southeast Asia. We can all like things together." 

Eliot leaned over and kissed her. "We'll do that," he said. "But for now, welcome home." 

"Did you get me a present?" she asked. "I brought you some presents. Some of them might have been...eaten. By accident. When I got hungry in the airport and nothing was really open yet."

"Yeah, Europe doesn't really believe in the Waffle House always-open principle," Eliot agreed. "Too bad. Sometimes you just want a two a.m. chausson aux pommes, you know? Of course we got you presents. Although now I'm thinking we should have bought you a short skirt and a chambray shirt." 

"There's a lot of stuff in my warehouse," Parker said. "But if I can't find that outfit, I'll let you buy me a new one."

"Deal," Eliot said. He held his hand over the top of the chair. Hardison high-fived him and sat back with a smirk. When Parker fell asleep on Eliot's shoulder, Hardison reached through the little gap between the seats and held Eliot's hand. 

\+ + + +

The box made it to Portland completely unharmed. Someone had wrapped it up in layers of tape. There wasn't even a corner bashed in. Eliot sighed and hefted it onto his shoulder. Parker and Hardison walked a couple of steps behind him. Hardison had Eliot's backpack slung onto one shoulder and he was pulling his own suitcase.

"What's in the box?" Parker whispered to Hardison.

"We don't know yet," Hardison whispered back. "Eliot says papers from the way it moves around." 

"You know I can hear you," Eliot said.

"Obviously," Hardison told him, grimacing at Parker.

"Don't make that face," Eliot said. "I know you didn't think I could hear you." 

Parker looked a little alarmed.

"I thought your ears got ruined walking away from too many explosions like a cool guy," Hardison teased. 

"Maybe my ears got ruined because someone's always talking too loud on comms," Eliot grumbled. "Parker, this is what my daddy left me."

"That's it?" Parker asked.

"That's all of it," Eliot confirmed. 

"I wanted to go raid his childhood bedroom," Hardison told her. But he said no."

"Nobody needs a bunch of Hot Wheels and plastic army guys," Eliot said. "Nothing else worth salvaging."

They drove home to the Bridgeport in their separate cars, Parker by herself and Hardison with Eliot and the box. It was nice to be home, Hardison thought. They'd made a safe haven for themselves here, and if Eliot had looked alive and vital in some different way under the Oklahoma sky, here at least his shoulders didn't hitch up to his ears. Eliot dumped the box behind the couch in the office and left it there. 

"Dinner?" he said, and went up the stairs to the apartment before either of them could respond.

"Is he okay?" Parker asked.

"I don't know," Hardison told her. 

Dinner wasn't anything too fancy - fish tacos with a simple coleslaw on the side, something they'd made a hundred times. Eliot made a pitcher of margaritas to go with it. They were pretty quiet while they ate, like the box was on the table between them, blocking any attempt at conversation. 

"All right," Eliot said when he'd finished. "I'll open the fucking box."

"I didn't say a word," Hardison told him. 

"You didn't have to," Eliot said, and stomped down the stairs. By the time they got down there, he'd taken out his pocketknife and was slicing through the layers of tape. He wrestled one flap open and tipped the contents of the box out over the long desk where they plotted their jobs. Paper slithered out: sealed white letter-sized envelopes, bright postcards, the oversized pastel-colored envelopes that came with greeting cards. They covered the table and tumbled onto the floor.

"What the hell...?" Eliot murmured. He picked up a few of the letters, turned them over in his hands, and then dropped them again. 

"Eliot! What's wrong?" Hardison stepped up behind Eliot, steadied him. Eliot reached out with hands that shook a little bit.

"They're from my momma," he said. He sifted through the pile. "I think they're all from my momma."

"Looks like they've never been opened," Parker said, looking at Eliot for permission to touch them. He ducked his head just a fraction and she touched the letters with gentle fingertips. "These postmarks are old, Eliot."

He looked at one. "High school." He picked up a postcard and read it. "'Thinking of you on your first day of tenth grade. I'm sure you're growing so tall. Aunt Tammy said you're already playing varsity on the football team. She makes to your games every once in a while for me. Miss you more than I can say. Love, Mom"." 

"Wow," Hardison said. 

"These are dated pretty much every week," Parker said, putting a few letters in order. "She must have really missed you."

Eliot put his face in his hands. "Fuck," he said almost inaudibly. "That sumbitch, he fucking took them. I bet he came home from work just to make sure he got the mail before I did. She was already gone, and he made sure to keep her from me."

"We can fly out in the morning," Hardison suggested, his phone already in his hand, his thumb scrolling to the airline's app. 

"No," Eliot said. His voice sounded hollow. "If she'd wanted to see me, she could have made it happen." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Letters are nice and all, but she could have been part of my life if she'd wanted to. Daddy didn't run the town." 

"Eliot, you don't have to do this," Hardison said. 

"We ain't all happy families," Eliot snarled. "Some things you can't fix, Hardison. She left me, and honestly most days, I respect that choice. Things were over between them before my brother was born, and after that, he was done with her. He acted like it was her fault my brother was the way he was. He wasn't ever going to forgive her."

"What happened with your brother?" Parker asked, her tone gentle. 

"He was..." Eliot started to say and trailed off. "Huh. I guess he has autism. He was always just kind of quiet. In his own head. Daddy thought he was slow. Matty just wasn't the kind of boy he wanted. He loved my little sister Libby, but not the way he would have loved another son, and we all knew it." He paused again. "I was the son he wanted, and even that wasn't enough. I wasn't enough, not on my own. And I left, just like my momma did, with my gun on my shoulder and my name over my heart." He looked bleak. 

"There's still time to fix this," Parker said softly.

"Parker, sweetheart, there's nothing to fix," Eliot told her. He shook his head. "There's nothing left." 

"Do you want me to...?" Hardison gestured broadly at the letters.

Eliot shook his head. "I'm gonna read 'em," he said. "But that's where this ends. Can't rebuild the past. There's no foundation anymore. Nothing left but ruins." He looked up at them. "The lawyers know where I am now. If they need me, they can find me."

Parker looked like she wanted to say something, but she glanced at Hardison and subsided. "Do you want us to put them back in the box?" she asked.

"Nah," Eliot said. "I'm going to go through them. Put them in order. Try to make sense of all this."

"I'll bring you some little boxes," Hardison said. "So you can keep them organized."

"Thanks," Eliot said. He turned to Hardison and grabbed him suddenly in a crushing hug. "Y'all are my family, you know? You're all I need."

"'Til our dying days," Parker promised, coming up behind him and hugging him, her head against his shoulder. 

"Now git," Eliot said. "Let a man process his emotions in peace." 

"We are going to go buy a bunch of emergency ice cream," Hardison said, putting his arm around Parker as they left.

"So much ice cream," Parker agreed. "And a bottle of whiskey. And a really long silly straw."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," Eliot told them. He smiled at them, eyes shining, his whole face weighed down a little with grief. They let the door shut behind them.

"Did we do the right thing?" Parker asked.

"Yeah, baby, we did," Hardison said. "And we're gonna keep doing the right thing and loving him as hard as we can."

"Good," Parker said. "Maybe we can still live happily ever after. We make our own family, you know?"

"That's the plan," Hardison said, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. "That's the plan."


End file.
